


And The Walls Are Closing In

by BuddysImpala



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Claustrophobia, Hurt Phin, Hurt/Comfort, I need help, I wrote this in like 6 frickin hours last night, I'm sorry P.T., M/M, Oops, P.T. panics, Phillip is a sweetheart, barlyle - Freeform, this is the longest oneshot i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 04:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14488485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddysImpala/pseuds/BuddysImpala
Summary: In which P.T. has a grand new idea for the circus, but ends up stuck.(Based off #1 in my Tumblr Barlyle prompts, "Please don't leave me.")





	And The Walls Are Closing In

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot is ALSO in my "Barlyle Prompts and One-Shots," but I thought it was long enough to warrant its own story. 
> 
> Based off #1 in my Tumblr Barlyle prompts, "Please don't leave me."
> 
> It's the longest oneshot I've ever written, y'all better give it the attention it damn well deserves.

  **Prompt 1 from 60 Barlyle Prompts**

**"Please don't leave me."**

**Word Count: 4,012 HOLY SHIT**

**Title: _And The Walls Are Closing In_**

**\---**

P.T. Barnum was always looking for new ways to make the circus a fresh, exciting experience. As if a singing bearded woman, trapeze acts, and a dog boy weren't enough, he spent nights at home - sometimes, hours at a time - reading over blueprints. Writing, making calls (the man was, of course, always on top of the latest inventions), bragging to anyone and everyone he could about his circus, _The Greatest Show On Earth_ , because he made it that way.

Phillip put up with it. He often found it endearing how full of life the man was - even in the dead of night when most normal people had long since gone to bed - but sometimes it did irk him, just a bit. What irked him the most was the man's habit of climbing out of bed - even on those nights after a coupling, when all Phillip wanted to do was lie close and cuddle - and he wasn't exactly quiet about it, either. But that was what P.T. Barnum did, and, though he did find it annoying sometimes, Phillip loved him for it.

So, all things considered, he shouldn't have been that surprised when P.T. sat up in the middle of the night one night - ignoring Phillip's soft cries of protest and pleas for sleep - and exclaimed, "a platform!"

"What?" Phillip whined. He opened one eye and peered at P.T., who was currently shifting to get off the bed.

"Can't you see it, darling?" His eyes lit up and that knowing smile curled across his lips as he motioned with his hand. "For the shows! The opening song! We can install a platform in the floor, a secret platform to lift me up—"

"Like an elevator?" Phillip murmured, one eye still closed, the other open.

"Yes, yes! Exactly that!"

"Elevators were invented twenty years ago, Phin. I highly doubt they're safe enough to—"

Ignoring him, P.T. grabbed his robe off its hook and slipped into it. Tying it around his waist, he left the room in a flourish, bare feet slapping against the cool wooden floor.

Phillip groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

*

Phillip had thought that, maybe, P.T. had forgotten his ridiculous moving platform idea, but that was not the case. Within just a few days the circus was swarming with new workers who, first, hollowed out a space for the platform to go. Then the platform itself was installed. P.T. had been forced to postpone a few shows, but promised disappointed circus-goers that "something special" was coming to the show. It created buzz around the city and, when Phillip first heard of the news somewhere outside the circus, he was flabbergasted.

"You don't even know if it'll work!" he protested one night. They had just entered the safety of their home and, as P.T. turned to hang up his coat, Phillip approached him with a scowl on his face and his arms crossed over his chest.

P.T. laughed as he turned back around, and ran his hands down Phillip's arms, then his sides. "Relax, darling. It's all going to work out. You'll see."

"Phineas, I really don't think telling people before—"

P.T. quieted Phillip with a kiss to the jaw, then the lips. Phillip gasped, then made a feeble, whining sound in protest - he wasn't through his discussion yet - but then his lips parted and he sighed, reaching up to tangle his fingers into P.T.'s hair. P.T. pulled him closer, strong arms enveloping him, and smiled into the kiss. When they pulled away, Phillip's lips were pouty and swollen, and P.T. chuckled as he ran his finger across the younger man's lower lip.

"How about, instead of arguing, you put that pretty little mouth to a much more...appreciated use?"

Phillip moaned as he was pulled closer once more, and slowly sank to his knees. P.T. smiled and, fisting his hand into Phillip's hair, murmured, "that's a good boy."

Talk of the platform was forgotten.

*

P.T. wanted fog, and lots of it. His vision, he said, was to start off the show by rising onto the platform as he started the first song. The fog would help create the illusion of appearing out of nowhere.

Phillip wasn't sure where the ringmaster had managed to get the dry ice from, but then, he was quickly learning that he needed to stop questioning the man's logic.

But first, before any of that vision could be fulfilled, they needed to rehearse. They tested the moving platform a few times with nobody on it. Afterwards, when it was deemed safe enough for the ringmaster, he tested it himself. It worked fine with him on it too, and managed to hold his weight - first he went down, then up. Down, then up again. They went through rehearsal without any problem - timing was a little bit off on the entrance, but, for the most part, everything worked, and the troupe celebrated.

Phillip smiled and laughed upon watching P.T.'s eyes light up with his success. He couldn't help himself - P.T. had been right after all. When the ringmaster met him backstage, he smirked as he wrapped his arms around Phillip's slim waist.

"What did I tell you?" the ringmaster breathed, nuzzling into Phillip's neck. Phillip sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. "Everything's worked out fine."

"You were right," Phillip admitted, smiling softly as he twirled a strand of hair by P.T.'s ear around his finger. Then, chuckling, he added, "for once."

P.T.'s jaw dropped and Phillip laughed as the older man pulled him closer. Nipping playfully at Phillip's ear, he growled, "I'm always right."

"Sure you are," Phillip smiled. He kissed P.T., soft, but quick, and then gently pulled back. "I've got to help Anne now." He squeezed P.T.'s hand. "I love you."

Smiling, the ringmaster cupped Phillip's cheek in his hand. "I love you, too," he murmured.

His eyes sparkled as Phillip walked away.

*

Taking a deep breath, P.T. left the backstage area and approached the main performance ring once more. The room was empty - Phillip had gone to help Anne with her act and the rest of the troupe had cleared out as well. With the platform successfully installed, that meant that the circus would be up and running again within a few days and they all needed to get back into their rehearsal routines.

There was a switch (that would become invisible when they added fog into the act) that activated the moving platform. P.T. stepped onto the platform himself before pulling the switch. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes as the floor beneath his feet began to lower. The platform stopped at the bottom - there was just enough room for P.T. to step off and tuck away into the corner, if he so desired.

The only light came from above, the main ring. P.T. waited a moment for his eyes to adjust.

_See? This isn't so bad. This was a good idea. There's nothing to worry about._

P.T. took a shuddering breath and willed himself to relax. He never liked small spaces, not even as a boy. It was a silly fear, though. Extremely childish. The moving platform had been an extra act for the circus, sure, an extra illusion, but it was also P.T.'s secretive way of trying to overcome this fear that had haunted him ever since he'd been a child. Having mainly grown up on the streets, then the railroad, P.T. was used to wide, open spaces. He was used to light and freedom. Dark, enclosed spaces made his heart race, made his hands shake.

But this - this was fine.

P.T. took another deep breath, calmer this time. He was forced to hunch over in the small space, but he closed his eyes and willed himself to take a step forward.

Then he stepped off the platform.

*

W.D. grumbled as he marched into the main performance area. How was he supposed to know that Charles would fall off the horse and—?

W.D. paused. He frowned at the open space in the floor. Looking around, he didn't see anyone - he was alone, no Phillip or P.T. in sight - and he sighed as he marched forward and pulled the lever for the platform to come up.

It rose, empty.

"Now where's that damn ice?" he sighed to himself as he wandered out of the performance ring.

*

P.T. heard the platform rise before he could register the fact that he was suddenly shrouded in complete, utter darkness. When he stumbled forward and realized that the platform was indeed gone, his face drained of color and he screamed.

"Help me!" he cried. "Somebody, please!"

P.T. was still forced to hunch over as he raised his hands and pressed against the bottom of the platform. No luck. Even if he could move it somehow, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to from his angle.

 _"Help me!"_ he screamed again. He didn't realize he'd already begun to cry until he felt the hot tears roll down his face. "Phillip? Anne? Somebody!"

No answer.

P.T. craned his head back, but all he could see was darkness, the bottom of the platform merely shadowed in the lack of light. He brought shaking hands up to his face and could only see the outlines of those, too - he couldn't even make out the shape of each individual finger.

P.T. screamed again and rose his hands to pound on the bottom of the platform, but all that did was hurt and possibly splinter his knuckles. Whimpering, he cradled his hand to his chest and retreated to the corner like a wounded animal. Pressing his back to the wall, he slid down and pressed his wrists to his eyes.

_Maybe if he imagined bright, open fields, it'd all go away..._

*

"Has anyone seen P.T.?" Phillip asked. Afternoon was turning into evening and most of the acts were wrapping up rehearsal for the day, but Phillip hadn't seen Phin for... how long now? A few hours, three, maybe four. He was starting to get a little worried, truth be told, and stopped a few of the acts on the way out.

One of the albino twins shrugged and the dog boy scratched his head. Anne pursed her lips together.

"Not since this afternoon. Want me to help you look?" she offered.

"No—," Phillip started to say. But then he paused. "I - could you?" he whispered.

Anne smiled, and nodded. She parted ways with her brother.

"It's probably nothing," Phillip rambled. "Knowing him, he's planning something somewhere. and he'll tease me for sending a search party after him." He rolled his eyes. But inside, his stomach twisted into knots.

"I'm happy to help," Anne assured him, gently squeezing his shoulder. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but having her there actually helped a lot.

Once the other acts cleared out and left them alone, Phillip sighed shakily and ran a hand through his hair.

"Barnum?" Phillip called out. His voice carried down the empty building as he walked down the hall, Anne following close behind. No answer.

He'd checked P.T.'s office before speaking with the other oddities, but he checked it again. There was nobody inside and the paperwork on P.T.'s desk looked like it hadn't been touched.

Frowning, Phillip carried on down the hall - Anne followed him, silent, allowing him to take the lead - and entered the main circus ring. The seats were empty - it had been odd not performing and hearing the stunned cries of the circus-goers the past few days, but they'd be starting up again soon - and the area overall, seemed relatively clean. They hadn't used the main ring much for practicing and so the last ones to have been in the room were...

He and P.T. Right before they went backstage and right before Phillip went off to help Anne. They'd been together because—

—because Barnum had been testing out the new platform.

"P.T.?" Phillip murmured as he approached the movable bit of the floor. Anne rose an eyebrow as she watched him.

There was no answer so Phillip cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. "P.T.? Phineas?"

Still no answer. And yet, something told him—

Hurriedly, Phillip pulled the lever and held his breath. The platform lowered and, as soon as it did, Phillip heard the unmistakable sound of sobs filling the air.

"Phineas!" Phillip cried. "Are you down there?"

He got no direct verbal response breath, but a slight reaction - a catch in the sobs - had Phillip on his hands and knees in an instant. He leaned forward and - there. Hunched in the shadowy corner, there was—

Scrambling to his feet, he turned to Anne. "Can you pull the lever? When I - we - need to come up again?"

Anne nodded.

Phillip pulled the lever again and the platform rose back up. A startled cry - more like one on the verge on a scream - pierced his ears and he cringed as he stepped onto the platform and lowered himself down. As soon as the platform hit solid ground again, he was off and kneeling by P.T.'s side.

"Phin," he whispered, encircling his arms around the older man. P.T. still had his hands pressed to his eyes - Phillip could make out nasty scratches on the ringmaster's knuckles in the dim light - and rocked back and forth in Phillip's hold. "Oh God, Phineas, how long have you been down here?"

P.T. could make no verbal answer. He felt something - someone - by his side, felt familiar, loving arms around him, and felt himself being pulled into a firm chest that rose and fell with steady breaths. He smelt the familiar cologne and a voice whispered at the back his mind - _Phillip_. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remove his hands from his eyes, and he couldn't speak. His tongue laid dry and heavy in his mouth. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks and stung already-raw eyes.

Gentle hands wrapped themselves around his wrists and pulled his hands from his face. P.T.'s eyes were still closed, but he forced them open.

He flinched. His eyes were red, raw, and ached from being forced shut for - how long? It had felt like years being trapped in that tiny little space beneath the ring, but certainly - was the day over yet?

But through his aching, burning eyes, P.T.... found the space to no longer be dark. It was still dim and it was still small, but light poured in from above - the platform was on the floor at his feet - and his lips parted as he met familiar, concerned, loving eyes.

Phillip.

"Hey," Phillip whispered. He stroked P.T.'s hair and cheeks, and held the older man's red, teary face in his hands. He gently pulled P.T. forward and nestled the ringmaster's face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. He used one hand to rub slow, soothing circles into P.T.'s back - the man still shook and shuddered with every breath. "What happened?" he whispered. "How long have you been stuck down here?"

"I - I - I—" P.T. gasped. His throat burned and ached even worse with the strain of talking.

"Shhh." Phillip pulled him closer - at this point, the taller, heavier ringmaster practically sat in his lap, but he didn't care - and kissed his forehead. P.T. whimpered. "Don't force yourself to speak, please. It's all right. I've got you."

_I've got you._

He looked up at the rectangle of light, then back down at the platform by their feet. Glancing at P.T., he murmured, "We need to get you out of here."

" _N-No!_ " the ringmaster shrieked - his first coherent word since his rescue. His hand shot out and wrapped around Phillip's wrist. "Pl-Please," he gasped, using tremendous energy to force the simple words out of his mouth, "don't l-leave me," he sobbed, voice cracking. Fresh tears rolled down his face.

"Phin," Phillip whispered. He leaned forward and softly brushed his lips against the ringmaster's - P.T.'s lips trembled and tasted of salt. He pulled away. "I'm right here," he assured him. Reaching down, he interlaced his fingers with P.T.'s, "but we need to get you out of here, all right?"

P.T. stared at him, eyes blown wide. He didn't answer, but Phillip chose not to take his silence as an objection.

"We need to get you on that platform," he murmured, pointing at the ground, "but we can only fit one of us on it at a time, so—"

" _NO!_ " P.T. gasped in a shrill wail. It was so unlike P.T. that it sent a shudder down Phillip's back. "Don't leave me down here, don't, don't, please, I—"

"Hey," Phillip interrupted. Once again, he grasped P.T.'s hands in his. "You're going to go up before me, all right? You're going to get up there safely and there's going to be light and you're going to be all right."

"W-Who's gonna—"

"Anne's up there." Phillip pointed and, at the sound of her name, Anne poked her head over the edge. She waved down at P.T., but P.T. - whose panicked state practically had him reduced, mentally, down to that of a toddler - buried his face in Phillip's shoulder. Phillip made no comment, no snide remark, and only rubbed his back as he spoke. "She's going to pull the lever and get us up, all right?"

"D-Don't leave me," P.T. moaned.

"I'm not going anywhere," Phillip promised, voice soft. He kissed P.T. again and laid his forehead against the older man's. "I love you."

P.T. stared at him, eyes wide.

"Ph-Phillip," he whispered.

"I'm here," Phillip repeated.

Once P.T. seemed to calm down a little and accept that Phillip would not leave him, Phillip helped him onto the platform - he hugged his knees to his chest, curling in a ball upon himself - and called up to Anne. After a moment, the platform started to move.

Phillip was concealed in temporary darkness. His breathing remained deep and even, but his heart broke for P.T. - how maddening it must have been to be trapped down here for _hours_.

After a few moments, the platform moved again and Phillip could see. Once it was on the ground, he climbed on and called for Anne to lift him up.

Moments later, he was on the floor with P.T., holding him again, kissing tear-stained cheeks.

"See? We're out," he murmured, running his fingers through P.T.'s hair. "We're out, I've got you."

Phillip heard footsteps then and, though he didn't look up, he knew Anne was leaving. She didn't want to see their ringmaster like that, didn't want to intrude on Phillip consoling P.T. He silently thanked the girl for her help as he held P.T. close and continued to murmur assuring things in his ear.

"C'mon," he whispered, grasping P.T.'s hand. "Let's go home."

*

Phillip helped P.T. out of his clothes and into pajamas. The man was still in a sort of shock and Phillip murmured quietly to him as he helped P.T. put on a shirt, then pajama pants.

"I understand why you were so scared," Phillip assured him, showering the older man with soft, caressing touches in an attempt to help him relax. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Phin."

P.T. made a soft whimpering sound as Phillip helped him lie down. The younger man soon followed and pulled P.T. close. They laid with P.T.'s back to Phillip's chest, but P.T. - too uncomfortable lying in the direction of the dark, blank wall - shifted and turned to lie face-to-face with his partner.

Phillip smiled and reached out to softly caress P.T.'s cheek. "Hey, you."

Phillip hugged him close, held him tight, and P.T. tried to will his mind to relax. He was safe in bed with Phillip. Phillip, who came to rescue him with Anne. Phillip, who made sure they both got out all right.

"I don't like small spaces," P.T. whispered. Tears clipped his voice, but it was the first coherent sentence he'd spoken since arriving back at home.

Phillip's arms tightened around him. He started rubbing P.T.'s back again and P.T. tried to focus on breathing.

"The streets, the railroad - they were always o-open - no dark, tight spaces, n-no—"

Anxiety built in the pit of his stomach again at the recollection of being trapped by the platform and, as if sensing the increased speed of P.T.'s heartbeat, Phillip immediately shushed him.

"You don't have to explain," Phillip told him. He traced the outline of P.T.'s face with his thumb, coming to stop at the man's lips. P.T. closed his eyes, tears wettening his lashes. "It's over now. You don't ever have to go down into that space again." Then he repeated that familiar mantra, those three words that P.T. had latched onto since first climbing out of the crawl space with Phillip. "I've got you."

"Phil—"

"Sleep," Phillip murmured. He drew P.T. closer, coaxed P.T. to lie his head on his chest. P.T.'s lips parted, wanting to say something else, but he thought better of it and closed his eyes.

And sleep he did.

*

The cheers of the crowd were almost deafeningly loud as the ringmaster rose up from the floor and, as the fog began to clear, started singing the lyrics to the oh-so-familiar opening song.

_"Ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for..."_

P.T. watched in awe as Phillip performed his song, marching around the stage as if he owned it. A familiar stirring of _want_ erupted in the pit of his stomach as he watched the younger man sing the lyrics originally meant for P.T.'s voice. When the song ended, Phillip bowed and hurried out of the main ring, handing the show off to the other waiting, eager acts.

P.T. met him backstage and captured him in a hug. He spun the younger man around and kissed him, removing Phillip's top hat from atop his head.

"You did so well," P.T. murmured when they pulled away. Phillip beamed up at him, eyes sparkling, and he sighed. His eyes flicked over to the platform that Phillip had used to start off the show. "I only wish I could—"

"Hey," Phillip commanded. He cupped P.T.'s cheek in his hand, forcing the man to look at him. "What did I tell you? You don't ever have to go down into that space again."

P.T. smiled wistfully and lowered his eyes. Phillip reached up on tiptoe to kiss him, cupping the man's face in his hands.

Upon hearing his next cue, Phillip pulled away and kissed P.T. on the cheek.

"I'll come back here later," he promised.

Then he ran off, and P.T. smiled with love and pride as he watched his boy come alive upon the very stage P.T. himself had come undone.

 


End file.
